


Chances

by KendraPendragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Melancholy, Post TFP, Uni!lock, angst with happy ending, what if's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-14 23:36:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: Starts as Uni!lock. Fourteen years they've known each other, but only danced once. He had wanted to kiss her. She had wanted to kiss him. Neither of them had.Have they missed their chance? Is there only ever one chance? Or is life filled with chances, waiting for us to be brave enough, just once?





	1. One dance

**Author's Note:**

> Losely inspired by FRIENDS, season 9 (I think), where Joey has a party for his co-stars on the roof and Rachel wants to kiss him only to find him kiss another. It transformed into this little two-parter.   
> Personally, I really like the idea that Molly and Sherlock have known each other since uni, Molly being a constant in his life for so long, sometimes closer, sometimes furter apart, but always there.

The bass pulsated through her even before Molly had stepped through the open door. Meena's first flat was packed with people, as was the hallway. Quietly apologizing, Molly squeezed herself through the crowd until she was inside. Standing on her tiptoes, she looked out for her best friend - who found her, first. A hand grabbed hers and pulled her along through the narrow rosy hallway to the edge of the living room/kitchen area. Meena turned around and gave her a blinding smile before she hugged her tight.   
"So glad you came", she screamed over the music.   
"Thanks for inviting me!"  
Molly handed over a bottle of Talisker whiskey and a box of self-made Florentine biscuits; her favorite. Meena reacted with the desired excitement and kissed her friend on the cheek.   
"I better hide these, or they won't survive the party. Get a drink and get comfortable. I think Paul and a couple of the others are...somewhere."  
Molly smiled and looked after Meena as she disappeared into the crowd. With a sigh Molly fought her way along the living room area which was the dance floor tonight ("I don't have furniture yet, so it's absolutely perfect for a party!") and grabbed a plastic cup and poured some vodka and coke in it. Then she looked around, searching the many unkown faces for someone she knew.

"Heeey, there you are!"  
It was an hour and a couple of drinks later when Meena came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her best friend. She was almost a head taller and rested her chin on her shoulder. Molly, who had been discussing the last anatomy test with Paul and Jill, turns her head around to look her friend into her sparkling - and glazed over - dark eyes.   
"So, no sign of the Dark One, huh?"  
Molly chuckled. Meena was one of the few people she knew who weren't afraid of her rude, intimidating friend. At least that's what she called him in her head. Sherlock and her had spent a lot of time these last few months, mainly studying together, but often those study sessions ended with walks in the dark and long talks. Sherlock knew everything about her by now. And she knew a lot about him. And lately, she couldn't get him out of her head. Not only did he plague her in her dreams (oh, those wicked dreams that shook her out of slumber with an orgasm almost every night now) but in daydreams, too. There had been several embarrassing moments when she had sat on his bed, imagining him standing up from his desk and cover her body with his when he had suddenly turned around and looked at her as if he had known exactly what was going on in her head.   
She wanted him. How could she not? He was the smartest and most beautiful man she had ever met. Sometimes, the always hopeful part of her she thought he liked her that way, too. There were occasional looks and touches that made her heart beat faster.  
"Well, it was a long shot. He's not really a party person."  
Meena squeezed her.   
"Shame. After all the effort you put into developing your plan to capture him!"  
Molly laughed, only a tinge of bitterness on her heart.   
Meena kept holding her for the next fifteen minutes, chatting with her friends and the passers-by when all of a sudden:   
"Look who has emerged from his cave!"  
Molly turned her head. Her heart skipped a beat. Sherlock. Wearing black jeans, a black shirt with the first three buttons undone, those dark curls which were a Regency dream come to life in the 21st century.   
The chemistry student gave them a greeting nod and held out a wrapped gift to the hostess. Meena set Molly free and took it.  
"Thanks, Sherlock. Glad you came."  
"Had nothing better to do, since my study partner blew me off."  
Molly blushed as he glanced down at her.   
"Oh my God, Sherlock!"  
Meena had unwrapped her gift. Her jaw was lying on the floor as she turned the book over, awestruck.   
"That's a first edition."  
Sajorini Naidu, The Bird of Time: Songs of Life, Death & the Spring. Meena's favourite poet and role model.   
"It was no trouble", he said, not even looking at her, his eyes darting around the room, making countless deductions, for sure.   
"No troub-? Mate, you are insane. Thank you so much. You better brace yourself, Sherlock Holmes. There is a hug incoming."  
"Oh, no, please don't-"  
He let out a little 'oof' when Meena rushed forward and hugged him. Molly couldn't help but smile as he rolled his eyes at her in utter annoyance.  
"Enough!" he said in the end and pushed the hostess away from him.   
"You smell really nice", Meena commented with a smirk. "I'm surprised you didn't burst into flames."  
He only glared, then his eyes lit up when the song changed.   
"In spite of your obnoxious habit of touching people, you have a good taste in music."  
With a grin at Meena he rushed past her - grabbing Molly's hand.   
"Come along, Hooper. I'll teach you some moves."  
Molly squeaked, her eyes big and seeking help from her friend. Meena only grinned and gave her a thumbs up. So much for that friendship, Molly thought, her heart drumming in her chest, all her senses focused on his big hand curled around hers.   
He dragged her onto the dance floor and as soon as he turned around, pulled her flush against him.   
"I hope you dance better than you walk, Hooper."  
His hips began swaying, his tight hold forcing her to move, too.   
"Always stiff as a board", he grumbled displeased. But instead of letting her go, he took her arms, which had been flapping about rather stupidly, and wrapped them around his neck. He bent down to her and suddenly his face was so close that all sensible thought was banned from her head. She only saw and felt him (oh God she felt so much of him). Meena was right: He smelled fantastic. The music was vibrating through his body and was somehow dancing in his mesmerizing eyes. When he pushed a leg between hers and pulled her lower half against him by pressing a hand on the small of her back and swayed his hips some more, she felt like she was about to melt into the a puddle of arousal any second. But then he smiled at her, one of those rare, honest smiles that were so charmingly boyish, and the knot inside her body losened.   
This was really happening, she thought to herself and began swaying her hips to his rhythm. He raised a pleased eyebrow and she smiled back, her fingers wandering into his black curls. From them on, Molly thought and felt only him. She lost herself in the music and his eyes, his scent and warmth all around her. Dancing with Sherlock was perfection, sexy as hell...and so much fun. They smiled and laughed as they danced to song after song, his arms around her, his hands exploring her back, fingers weaving through her open hair, playing with it.   
He pushed her away, twirled her around, only to pull her back against him oh so closely, wrapping his arms around her and looking deep into her eyes, smiling so sensually it took her breath away. As if he had known, the song changed into a slow, sensual love song and instead of letting her go, as Molly had assumed, he pulled her even closer, buried his hands in her hair and kept looking at her with that soft expression in his eyes. Molly's heart was beating painfully fast, but she couldn't look or move away. All she could do was weave through his black, silken curls; something she had wanted to do since the first time she had laid eyes on him; and would love to do while he moved above her.   
This was the moment, Molly realized half way through the song. The plan she had come up with - now was the time. The plan was simple enough. She had come up with it one night in her dorm room with Meena and a bottle of vodka between them.   
Her alcohol-clouded mind had decided that the best way to make him fall in love with her was kissing him. After she had been sober, she hadn't been able to come up with a better plan, so she had stuck to it. As soon as Meena had invited them to the party, she had known that it would be the perfect event to execute said plan.   
Molly wanted to kiss him so bad. His smiling lips looked so incredibly tempting. This heavenly mouth and its stupidly perfect cupid's bow. She bet it felt fantastic. Oh, she would kiss him so good. Right now. Yes, she would do it. The way he held her, looked at her, swayed her gently - this was the moment.   
Molly couldn't move.   
Her fingers grasped his curls, but her hands didn't pull him down to her, even though her brain ordered them. Why wasn't her body obeying her?! Not even when his eyes lowered to her parted lips for so many heartbeats her insides screamed at her body to bloody start moving.   
But it didn't.   
And the song ended.

"What the hell, Molly!?" Meena said to her as soon as she had stepped off the temporary dance floor, Sherlock gone to the bathroom.   
"Why didn't you kiss him?!"  
"I-I-I..."  
"He was giving you the signal! The look, the lean-in, everything! Girl!"  
Molly groaned and pressed her palms against her eyes.   
"Oh my God, he was, wasn't he?! I'm such an idiot!"  
Meena didn't reply, but Molly didn't have to see her to know the exact look she was giving her.  
"Okay!" Molly nearly screamed and ran her hands through her hair. "I will do it! As soon as he comes back I'll snog the sodding life out of him."  
"Yeah! You go girl. Get your man!"  
"Yeah!"  
Molly made fists and hopped, her hazelnut hair bouncing. She whirled around and looked around for him. Instead of waiting, she would find and snog him right now, she thought sternly and began to make her way through the crowd to the bathroom. She turned around the corner, almost being squished by two drunken, stumbling guys. Huffing after them, she straightened and turned around - and froze.   
Her blood ran cold. Her heart stopped beating.

Sherlock. Pushing a girl against the bathroom door.

Snogging her.

With paarted lips she watched this scene in horror for a long, soul-crushing moment. Until she felt like fainting. She realized she hadn't been breathing. By drawing in a desperate breath, her body was shaken out of its freeze.   
Molly ran.   
Away from the party.   
Away from him.

 


	2. And one more chance

A jolt of lightning shot through him when the song – that song – reached his ears. He froze in his steps, memories attacking him, showing him, making him feel and smell. It was so sudden, almost violent that Sherlock’s brain had a short and his eyes fell close. The world around him fell away. The cold London wind couldn’t reach his skin. Instead he felt warmth against his front, two particularly hot spots right beneath his chest, silkiness between his fingers and the sensation of warm breathing against his throat. The traffic noise, the voices and footsteps couldn’t reach his ears, either. The only thing he heard was the soft, melancholic melody of the song coming from the café he had been passing by. But it wasn’t some fleeting sound he heard from far away; it was in his head, loud and clear like it had been that night. And behind closed eyes he saw the face of Molly Hooper, so much younger, her eyes so big, soft and dark…so full of life and something that had excited and frightened him. This Molly; he felt her in his arms, felt her hair between his fingers, smelled her perfume. She tilted her head to the side, her smile widening, her look expecting. Sherlock knew what she was waiting for…what she had been waiting for all this time…  


Someone crushed into him and Sherlock stumbled forward, his eyes snapping open, the memories flying away, too fast to catch. He blinked and shuddered as he finally felt the cold tongue of the wind lick across his face and hands. Not waiting for the passer-by’s apology to be completed, he continued to walk. Away from the song. Away from the memory of this chance he had missed.

 

oOo

 

As he stood in front of St. Barts, his intended destination, he paused and stared at the building, his chest feeling oddly tight. The wind was singing the song now. Sherlock shook his head and went inside. Memories had tried to overwhelm him these past weeks; he would not succumb. Not to memories of countless of adventures with Redbeard, not to memories of Eurus’ cold eyes staring at him, her voice singing her haunting song or whispering things that had scared him to death. His brain was still busy correcting the re-written childhood and Sherlock was haunted by dreams and events such as the one just now. A noise, a smell, a certain texture beneath his fingertips were the triggers. Every time it was intense, overwhelming. Sherlock still had to find a mechanism that made him handle it better. Probably a good idea to talk to his therapist about this…

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock tried to chase the shadow away. Unfortunately, the music followed him.  
The lab was empty, fortunately, so he took off his coat and scarf and went to get his samples. The music followed him.

Ten minutes later, the double doors swung open and automatically Sherlock’s head snapped up. The song inside his head got louder and his chest felt tight again when Molly walked in, carrying a metal bowl, looking over her shoulder, laughing at a joke her colleague had made. Sherlock couldn’t hear their voices, but he saw their lips moving. The long hazelnut ponytail swayed behind her as she walked to a table on the other side of the room. Sherlock felt the soft strands between his fingers. Her giggle broke through the song. In all these years, it hadn’t changed. It was still the most cheerful sound he had ever heard. Molly was taking out a swollen, discoloured liver, her colleague standing next to her, and was reaching for a scalpel when she finally spotted him. The song started from the beginning. For a second, the face of his pathologist was thirteen years younger and her eyes still sparkling with hope. She greeted him with a smile, warm as it had always been. Even after all these years, after all these moments he had let go by, after all the pain he had inflicted.   
Sherlock nodded slightly, listening to the music in his head, holding her gaze for another second. When she looked away, so did he, his heart clenching.

The blasted song was on an eternal repeat, as it seemed. He couldn’t chase it away. Neither the images behind his eyes.

_It was the only time we danced._

Funny that this little fact made him pause, for one moment not believing his memories. He let the years rush by, remembered all the parties he had attended with her present, as well (a recollection which only needed a couple of seconds. He’d never been a party person).

It was true. Fourteen years he had known her. Only a handful of dances had he danced with her, all of them in one night.  
His eyes flew to her, feeling hot.  
Not even on John and Mary’s wedding, did it cross his mind and he was shocked by how much grief that gave him. It could all have been different. _He_ could have been different. _They_ could have been different. All he had had to do had been leaning down and cross those last few inches. So simple. So ridiculously simple.

“Are you alright, Sherlock?”  
He flinched. Molly was standing next to him, looking at him with worry in her eyes. Those ever-soft eyes. Always forgiving, always caring. He had done nothing to deserve this look.

“Do you remember Meena’s party?”  
It had burst out of him. But to be fair, it was the only thing on his mind right now.

“Could you be a bit more specific?” She laughed. Meena had thrown tons of parties throughout the years.  
“The one where we danced.”  
A flash across her face, full of emotions she usually never let him see. It was only a moment, though, then she smiled again.   
“Sure I do. That was, what? Thirteen years ago? Boy, we’re getting old…”  
She walked back to her station. He wanted to reach out for her, but didn’t.

_Coward._

The other pathologist was gone. Molly picked up the scalpel again and resumed her work, remaining silent. She wasn’t going to ask. He could let it pass by.

“I heard the song on my way here.”

Molly frowned, looking up, one glove bloody, scalpel in the other.   
“What song?”  
“Our song.”  
A stutter in her breathing. The song was droning in his ears. For a moment, she was at Meena’s, too; in his arms, swaying from side to side, letting her small fingers slide through his hair. He shivered. His heart clenched.   
“We have a song?” No trace in her voice that the memory affected her like it did him. She giggled, even. It broke his heart a little.

“Of course we do.”

The serious tone in his voice murdered the smile and for a moment, he could have sworn she felt it; the grief for this missed chance to be more than friends.

“Sorry, I don’t remember.”  
A dagger to his heart. He deserved it.

Molly looked away again, focusing on her work. Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off her.

_All the things I’ve done to you. All the things I haven’t._

“Did you want me to?”

His chest clenched, he could hardly get the words out. It was pointless, yet he had to know. He was feeling raw, emotions were still so difficult to control after Sherringford.

Molly refrained from asking what he meant. She only paused, staring at the half-dissected liver.   
_You can hear the song, can’t you?_

“Sherlock-“  
“Did you?”  
For a split second, her eyes fell close, then she shook her head.   
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”  
“It matters to me.”  
“Why?”  
She looked up at him, a shine of desperation and fear in her big, dark eyes.

Sherlock gulped, tried to take a breath despite the weight on his chest. Goosebumps traveled down his arms.

“Because I’ve never stopped wondering what would have happened if I had.”  
Molly’s nose crinkled, tears welled up in her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitched. But she didn’t look away. Her teary eyes were as kind and warm as ever.   
“Neither have I.”

The tender smile she gave him pierced his heart. He was back at Meena’s, in the living room, swaying his Hooper, his only true friend, from side to side, feeling her soft body against him, her eyes shining with feelings.

His eyes filled with tears, as well, yet he smiled back.

“Do you think I could have made you happy?” he asked her, his voice thin.

Her smile widened.   
“You made me happy, Sherlock. Every day with you made me ridiculously happy.”  
A knot in his throat. He didn’t deserve her, never had.  
“You made me happy, too. You know that, right?”  
It was so important to him that she knew that he had valued their friendship. The blush on her cheeks and the shy tilt of her head made his heart miss a beat.   
“Yes.”

God, how he wished he had told her back then. When she had been in his arms, smiling up at him.   
“If I hadn’t left…”, drugs had found him later that year and in the end had almost destroyed him. He had had to leave uni...and her, “do you think we would have stayed together?”

Molly shrugged, fumbling with her latex gloves, the scalpel lying on the table.   
“I don’t know. We’ve grown during the years, of course…But I’d like to think so.”  
So did he. Suddenly, there was a different route leading away from the party. A route on which he had been brave enough to kiss her.   
“Maybe we would have lived together”, he suggested, speaking his thoughts out loud as he walked this route, seeing an alternative life unravel before his eyes.   
“I wouldn’t have met John that day, searching for a flatmate. I would have met him later.” There wasn’t an alternative universe in which he wouldn’t have met John Watson, he was sure of it.   
“Maybe we would have been married already.”

He looked down at his left hand, almost expecting to see a golden wedding band.   
“Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to jump.”  
With her voice of reason by his side, he might have found another way. He wouldn’t have had to leave...and lose her yet again.  
“There wouldn’t have been a Tom”, he said now, feeling the full force of the jealousy and fear he had suppressed. “And we would have danced at John and Mary’s wedding.”  
He smiled at the thought, saw her in that blinding yellow dress and the ridiculous bow that somehow had looked absolutely adorable on her.   
“Maybe you would have fallen pregnant around the same time Mary had…She wouldn’t have died. Our children would have grown up together…and we old.”  
He chuckled at a picture of a grey, withered John scolding him.   
“It would have been the six of us, maybe more, against the rest of the world…”  
As he reached the end of this imaginary life, this alternative route which sprung from a dance and a never shared kiss, he fell silent.

It could have been all so different. So much better. So much fuller. If only he had been brave for once in his messed up life. He could have been with a woman who would have taught him so much with her patience, her love and her generosity. Well, he thought with a smile, she had taught him anyway. Even with the distance between them her kind heart had lectured him on humanity, friendship and love.  
“I’m sorry, Molly”, he said softly and looked at her, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t brave enough to kiss you that night.”  
Her eyes were big and full of unshed tears, yet she smiled a melancholy smile.   
“Me too, Sherlock.”  
The grief of loss filled his heart. Finally, the song inside his head fainted away. The young, hopeful Molly with her open hair and her shining eyes untangled herself from him, stepping back, holding his hand until they had to let go. He couldn’t follow her. This Molly was no more. She belonged to the shadows that were swallowing her now. She tilted her head in farewell and smiled. Then she was gone.  


And he was alone.  


As if to prove him wrong, Molly was standing in front of him suddenly, her eyes not as young, not as naïve, but so much deeper and wiser.  
“You are not alone.” Had he said it out loud? “We’ve missed our chance, but we’re still here, together, side by side. I will always be there for you, no matter what. Do you understand?”  
He nodded, tears welling up in his eyes so fast he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop them. Thankfully, Molly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him against her. Sherlock didn’t hug her back. He knew he wouldn’t be able to let go. But when she rested her chin on his shoulder, he leaned his cheek against hers and closed his eyes.

“Thank you”, was all he could say, his heart overflowing with gratitude for Molly Hooper’s strength and her unwavering faith in him. Without her, he would be dead. She had saved his life so many times. With grand gestures like finding doppelgaengers as well as countless of small ones, like a smile, a hug, a slap, a look or by simply being there.   
In a fit of sentiment he turned his head and buried his nose in her neck. He breathed her in. Her perfume had changed, but underneath it was the scent that had always been hers. He felt her warm, soft skin on his and he became aware of how shockingly little they had touched throughout the years. This hug now and the dancing all these years ago had been the closest he had ever been to her. As the seconds passed, he understood why: This, this just felt too good. He felt all his walls getting damaged with every breath he felt against his ribcage, with every heartbeat pulsing through the carotid underneath his lips. It frightened him how fast it happened, with so little effort on her side.

He leaned back.  
Molly let go immediately, smiling cheerfully.  
“I’ll stop at John’s on my way home. Will I see you there?”  
Of course she knew he would flee now. He always did.  
“Yes.”  
She had already turned away from him and simply nodded as she walked back to her station. When she turned around, he was gone.

 

  
  
  
**~Three weeks later~**

  
Sherlock was at a crime scene when his mobile beeped. In the middle of a deduction, he pulled it out.  
  
_Could you come by tonight? Around 10pm, after my shift? Need your help with something._  
  
Sherlock typed, still speaking.

  
_Yes. Chinese?_  


_No food, thanks. See you then._

  


He arrived punctually, as usual, letting himself in with the key she had given him three days after she had moved into this lovely flat. After he had closed the door, he paused. No sounds, the hallway lay in darkness, but through the open door to the living room shone colourful light: Green, red, blue, yellow, always changing. Almost like party lights.  
With a frown he walked the few feet into the living room – and stopped dead. His eyes flew around the square room, small in comparison to her giant kitchen which she loved to death. The worn leather couch she had inherited from her father, the large chest she used as a coffee table and the two arm chairs were all cramped against the wall, the carpet rolled up, the party lights dancing over them.  
Utterly confused, he looked at Molly who was standing at the other end of the room and froze once more.  
_Hooper_.  
Thirteen-years-ago Molly. The same deep red velvet top and the tight black jeans, the same black lace choker with the little white skull she had always worn back then. Her hair open, as it so rarely was these days.  
“What is this?” he asked, his heart beating frantically, his mind blank.  
Molly had her hands folded in her back and tilted her head to the side, smiling like she had done when she had been in his arms that stupid, fateful night.  
“It's another chance...if you still want it.”  
A hand moved to the side, a remote in hand. She pressed a button and placed it onto the window sill behind her.  
Sherlock's eyes widened.  
Their song.  
Molly bit her bottom lip. His heart stopped beating.

  
Another chance.

  
  
His bottom lip trembled, his vision blurred. With a raspy gasp he hurried through the room. He would not let her slip away this time. This time, he would be brave. For her. For himself. For them.

“Molly”, he gasped as he slung his arms around her, pressing her petite body against him so tight he knocked the air right out of her. Yet, her arms wound around his neck and when her fingers wove through his hair like they had thirteen bloody years ago, he wept. Stifled sobs against the soft skin of her neck as he buried his hands in her hair; just as fantastic as he remembered.  
“I love you. I've always loved you”, he sobbed, his heart overflowing with this devine love he had buried so deep and so long within his very soul.  
“I know”, came her soft reply and tenderly did her fingers weave through his curls again. Then she began swaying to the melody and he sank against her, matching her slow rhythm.  
Finally, they were dancing again.  
His tears were still wet on his cheeks when he straightened to cup her cheeks and look into her eyes. She tilted her head and smiled. Her eyes were full of hope. His heart was about to burst with love. No more fear.  
Slowly, he crossed the distance between them, wanted to cherish every second, looked into her eyes until his nose brushed along hers. Her hot breath hit his lips and he shivered. His eyes fell close, the warmth radiating from her skin made his lips tremble. Only one more inch...

  
Then finally, he was kissing her. Hooper. His Molly. His guardian angel. His friend. Had only taken him thirteen bloody years to do it.

  
Parting his lips, he wound his arms around her and pulled her flush against him. Her tongue greeted his with a tender swipe and he quivered.  
He'd been one collosal idiot, denying himself the pure bliss of kissing Molly Hooper.  
Sherlock moaned into her mouth and deepened the kiss, moving his tongue in slow, sensual strokes, her taste making him dizzy. Too dizzy. With a heavy heart, he broke this heavenly, perfect first kiss and rested his forehead against hers, still swaying to their song. It was on repeat.  
“I can't believe we haven't done this every day for the past thirteen years”, Sherlock muttered and placed a soft kiss on the tip of her pixie nose. Molly had her eyes closed but smiled, her hands cupping his cheeks and stroking his cheekbones.  
“I've thought a lot about what you said the other day at Barts”, she whispered, “and this life you imagined...I don't think it would have ever been like this...as wonderful as it sounds.”  
Her eyes opened, shining with love and warmth.  
“That night at the party...I wanted to kiss you, too. So bad. I'd planned to kiss you would you show up...but when we danced to this song and the moment was there...I couldn't either. And when I went to find you and do it after all and you were kissing someone else...” Sherlock pulled her closer. He had been so frustrated, confused and frightened after their dance that he had grabbed the first girl he had seen and had snogged her, trying to tell himself that he just wanted to snog _someone;_ that he wasn't in love with Hooper.  
“Maybe we have been prevented from making the biggest mistake of our lives. If we had been a couple when you started using...maybe we wouldn't have survived it. It might have broken our hearts. You would have been too ashamed to call me after rehab, or I too afraid. And then we wouldn't even have been friends...and I don't want to imagine my life without you in it. Maybe this chance was supposed to be wasted. Maybe it wasn't a chance at all, but a promise for the future...for tonight. You weren't ready back then. You needed these years to find yourself, to overcome your fears. And I'm glad that I was there, even if it was only as a friend. To watch you grow and become the magnificent man you are today...it was worth the wait. I don't regret waiting for you, not one day. It wasn't always easy, but deep down, I never gave up hope that we would get our chance.”  
Sherlock was crying again, his lips trembling, stifling sobs. He gasped and smiled and stroked her cheeks.  
“You've always known me better than I myself”, he whispered, all these deep feelings taking his breath away. “I can't believe you're still here, after everything I've done wrong. I hurt you so many times, pushed you away-”  
“-as if you ever had a chance to get rid of me”, she interrupted him, smiling cheekily. He let out a laugh and ran his fingers through her beautiful long hair.  
“Quite foolish, in hindisght”, he chuckled and Molly agreed, snuggling closer.  
For a while, they danced, kissed and looked into each other's eyes.  
“Will you marry me, Molly?” Sherlock said in between kisses, his lips brushing over hers.  
“Of course I will.”  
He smiled, pure bliss filling his heart and soul. He buried his face in her neck and held her tight as they continued to dance for hours and hours to their song, finally being together; as it had been meant to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know why I have such a craving for a crying Sherlock at the moment. I just need him raw and so bloody in love with his Molly that he can't contain his feelings.  
> There is something so beautiful in a vulnerable, crying Sherlock. Wouldn't you agree?


End file.
